A Fine Statue
by Leighton Harper
Summary: A new kind of fan fiction documenting oc Liberty Vivier's relationships with Les Amis de L'ABC up until that fateful night at the barricade. She must decide what she loves more: the revolution or love itself. How will Enjolras and Grantaire affect her decision? Can she contribute to the revolution? Lot's of Gavroche too.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note- I hope everyone enjoys this new fan fiction I putting together. The main characters will be my OC, Gavroche, Grantaire, and Enjolras. I want to note that I'm not exactly part of the fandom so much as an admirer of the revolution/June rebellion; I say this because I know some of my character details will a little off… some details will be extracted from the latest film while others from the musical but most predominantly from the novel. However I'll be following the characters appearances from the 2012 film because the current images are easy for me to obtain and personally those are my favorite portrayals. This just serves as a warning to anyone who wants to nitpick over the details in this fiction and compare it to the factual ones… I'm really not interested because part of fan fiction is making your own changes to a work to make it your own. I'm writing this mainly because I've only been able to find one ongoing fan fiction for Enjolras that I like and a few oneshots for Grantaire, I'm feeding my own addiction here. **

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_**Rebellious Beginnings**_

_"France_ _bleeds, but_ _liberty_ smiles, _and before_ _the smile of_ _liberty_, _France forgets her wound_." ― Victor Hugo, _Les Misérables_

_October 27__th__ 1829 _

The sky was dark on the dreary afternoon Liberty Vivier's carriage ambled through Paris, the wind nearly caused the black body to quake off its wheels while it pulled through the throngs of shivering beggars reaching hopelessly towards the window panes. She shook her head in pity but knew better than to open the windows, she was generally kind and pious, yes, but the mobs were dangerous especially as she would be trapped inside should the people decide her piety wasn't enough. Besides, she usually reserved her charity for lone children and the elderly as she thought lowly of the women who created babies they knew they could not take care of. It was unfair to the children expecting them to survive in their parents' cold, careless world. Her carriage slowed to a halt after a particularly large jolt (she told herself it was a hole in the earth although more commonly a body was thrown beneath the carriages), she leaned backwards allowing her head to loll against the wall rather unladylike fully aware that she could be stuck with the masses anywhere from minutes to hours.

Liberty grimaced realizing her bag was void of her notebook and pen, or a book, or anything that would distract her from doing too much thinking or replace the cries outside her window with more delightful words and imagery. It dawned on her that after all this time; she certainly _did not _miss Paris as much as perhaps she wished to. Florence had been good to her; even the beggars were more picturesque under the glowing Italian sun. For a girl who once blossomed under the darkness of night she grew into a woman who dazzled just as brilliantly (and more preferably) in the daylight, much to even her own surprise. Paris seemed dirtier than she remembered; it stank of a perpetual mold and reeked of the dreaded plague. She wrinkled her nose as the ill stench came to mind joined with images of the filth that coated the skins of the people—whether literally on the poor or figuratively on politically corrupt.

No, she had certainly not missed Paris.

After nearly an hour she allowed herself a peak out her window, it seemed the mob had moved away towards the center of the square…it almost looked as if something was going on as they encircled some sort of…demonstration, perhaps? She moved off her bench to the window, her fingers clung to the door while she leaned in so far that should the carriage suddenly start her nose would be broken by collision with the glass. It _was_ some sort of demonstration! She suddenly yearned for her eyeglasses she so despised as she stared at the display. Few men towered at the center of the people, standing tall on some sort of platform, her eyes strained desperately partly out of boredom but also curiosity. If it was not for their pants and broad shoulders she most likely wouldn't have even be able to make out gender of the men, the mob was but a mass of limbs, heads, and faded color. One of the men stood out more that of the others even at this distance, his vest a most vibrant red like a fresh, gleaming apple.

From beyond the carts away from the gathering children ran towards the hordes, their tiny bare feet black and bloodied did not miss a beat. The leader of the pack stood but a few short inches taller than those he lead, his platinum hair streaked with dirt that marred the flesh and his sweet little face. His eyes glimmered like petit blue sapphires when he turned to his troop with an encouraging smile. Soon the baby urchins joined the vague assembly in the short distance her eyes were not strong enough to see distinctly.

Her hands moved fluidly for the door handle without thought as it swung open into the street, the rush of crisp autumn air rushed against her skin causing her to pause and consider the action of walking out into the open. Liberty was had become quite the hermit since returning to her homeland is the last weeks, very few knew she was back but she assumed even fewer would care. She kept to herself and her writing, her books were her only friends and she preferred it that way. In the forthcoming days she knew she was to return to school to study philosophy (as she was a rare woman privileged as well as trusted by her family enough to attend formal public university), perchance getting acclimated with Paris again would be worth her while.

She let her curiosity drive her forth from the carriage. She purposely did not look back to see what the holdup was but the stench of decay was enough to warn her she did not want to know. Her chocolate hair blew from its pins and her pale cheeks flushed in the sudden coolness of the real world. Her steps were light against the cobblestones beneath her shoes; the clicking was drowned out by the chanting of the men, women, and children that grew near.

"The time is nearing; can you people not feel it in your bones? The chill of revolution as it blows through the air, may it pierce each and every one of your souls. Each man is created equal; each weakness has a strength…" the words of the red-vested man rang clear as she entered the fray. Finally she was able to allow her eyes to drink in the scene while her ears tried to separate the flurry of the poor from the words of the young men ahead, some faces she found to be relatively familiar. There were three men in the front who delivered strong words of antimonarchy and republican ideals but others like them were strewn about the gathering egging the masses on. On the right, one of the men who spoke held a posture most civilized, his shoulders pulled back, chin tilted upwards to hold his round framed glasses right on the bridge of his average nose. His eyes watched the crowd; the darkened orbs reflected the grief of those he gazed upon mixed with a pride perhaps of their enthusiasm or his own men that stood at his side. On the left side stood a shorter man, square and solid but certainly more rambunctious in his movements and elated eyes. Even this boy's hair curled wildly matching his passion and excitement as he spoke of a future that seemed but a faraway daydream to Liberty. The man at the center demanded her attention though; the blinding red drew her thoughts from the exuberant curls to the voice of an angel stained by desire and revolutionary reveries. Tawny blond locks of hair splayed in the wind down to the collar of his ruby vest that contrasted against his eyes of the deepest royal blue that swirled with every rebellious breath like an ocean in a storm. He was taller than the others although his posture was bent, his body seemed to have a magnetic pull towards the onlookers as his words pierced the atmosphere around them. The man exuded leadership and astuteness beyond his obvious youth, in fact all the boys looked around her age if only a few years older, but his heavenly features blessed him with a façade of a youth clever beyond his years or at least unquestionably more ardent.

"Where is your king? Where is the man charged with the duty of keeping his kingdom alive while we are dying in the streets? We are citizens, it is time we care for our mother in her time of need as she has so lovingly raised us. It is time we protect Mother France from the tyranny of a monarchy, let the people rise and become our own government to cultivate the land with the fervor that our king that he indulges himself with!" his voice roared haughtily as if commanding the people's attention to his obvious cure to the fatally wounded France.

The masses responded with blind fury much to his anticipated response, "Vive la France! Vive la République!" His aforementioned men strewed about the people thrusted their fists in the air with voices booming "Vive la France! Vive la France! Vive la France!"  
Liberty found her thin frame engulfed in the arms of men and women shouting and wailing the patriotic phrase, they indirectly pushed her body further towards the platform. At this proximity she spotted the child again with his besmirched platinum hair raising his fists alongside the men, his small voice matched the chants of the spectators. His smile revealed his tiny teeth and chapped lips but the smile was a unique kind of hopeful at the least. It was promising.

"Something has got to give! General Lamarque cannot fight alone for a people who will not fight for themselves!" cried the man with the unruly curls. He was greeted with more cheers of "Vive la France!" and suddenly the clopping of horse hooves.

" DISBAND!" roared a menacing national guardsman from atop his steed as others followed suit. The stallions rushed towards the fray with the intent of scaring the people into separating from their rally, which worked to an extent as they disconnected like the red sea forming a straight empty path. "Disperse I say!" bellowed another guardsman dashing into the crowd. Someone fired a gun to the sky, inducing chaos beyond their wishes but efficiently scattering the potential rioters. Screams of women and angry men soiled the air; the children ran every which way trying to avoid a knee to the face or a kick that would knock them to the ground. Liberty held her black lace skirt a little higher as she tried to escape the sudden madness, she used her other arm to block her face from flying elbows. She jerked left, right into the arms of one of the young men before quickly turning the other direction searching for an exit. She dodged a horse, barely skipping out of its path in time before she followed the direction it came from knowing it must have forged some trail in.

She saw an opening to the right back towards the carriages she had come from so mistakenly and headed for that when out of the corner of her eye she saw a ball of cloth and dirtied blond knocked to the stones. She turned and headed for it instinctively as another stream of horses trotted into the bedlam, the boy raised his face where blood dripped from his nose, a horse marched closer behind him as its rider looked the other way shouting demands of disbandment. She bit her cheek hesitantly as not wanting to be associated with the rebellious leaders but bolted for the boy at the last second. Her weakness was for children and children alone. In a blur of darkness, horse hair, and hooves she snatched the boy up into her arms taking the blow of the steeds' powerful kick with her back as it sent the two sprawling out of hell's center ring and into the outer, less populated ring. Blood still dripped from the child's nose as blood pooled from his saviors skull onto to the gritty road. Her body covered in fresh scrapes and bruises from the tumultuous fall but her arms protected the child keeping him pressed motherly against her bosom.

The child lay still in shock, the girl did not move.

"GAVROCHE!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Curious Homecoming**_

"I'll be damned," Combeferre muttered as Enjolras carried the body of the young woman in his arms towards the safety of Le Café Musain, perchance Joly would be there to take a look at her. Her breathing was regular and he'd already ceased the bleeding from her head. Only a concussion perhaps, Enjolras mused, but better air on the side of caution and have Joly take a look. It would be hard to explain the girls' injury to a professional doctor. "You saw the scar behind her ear, Combeferre. It's her," he said quietly as if lost in thought.

Combeferre shook his head while he strode beside the red vested man, "but what could she be doing here? And why wouldn't anyone have mentioned she returned to Paris? Our families must have known of her return,_ someone_ had to have known_ something_."

"I saw her in the crowd, thought those eyes looked eerily familiar but lost and confused," Courfeyrac supplied. He trailed behind the trio with Gavroche who was unusually quiet but had insisted on staying with them as they cared for the girl. Courfeyrac had been the one to witness the mademoiselle's matronly heroism as he'd dashed for Gavroche himself, but he never would have made it in time. Another reason it was hard to believe that the girl cradled in Enjolras' arms was Liberty, she had become a figment left long behind in boyhood. Not only had the years been kind to her in terms of beauty but also in bravery. The timid, remarkably unlucky child was always hiding behind Combeferre. As he remembered she had few friends, the three boys had adopted her as their own after Enjolras had rescued her from the snatches of a deranged urchin once as she'd vanished from another child's birthday party they'd been forced to attend. Intelligent and graceful, she always was, but brave? Not in the least.

Enjolras barely listened as his friends discussed the possibilities of her return. She was destined to come home eventually, and now she had, simple as that. He gazed down at her heart shaped face that leant against his inner shoulder wondering whether or not she'd recognized them either. Her long limbs dangled limply, her knee twisted at an unnatural angle, skin stained by bruises and blood while marred with cuts. Dark brown waves of silken hair tickled flesh; he noted the way her porcelain skin contrasted with her darkened eyelids and sleepless circles. He had resisted the urge to lift those eyelids to see if it was truly her, if the eyes Courfeyrac spoke of were still the bright, swirling pools of liquid gold he remembered from five years ago. Just under five years ago, when she was thirteen and he was fifteen. Combeferre was seventeen then, he remembered the way his sad russet eyes betrayed his outward indifference to the departure of his adolescent cousin. It seemed like an eternity ago. Half a decade in the past, his last memory of her was not of this rag doll, exquisitely beaten out of sacrifice for another.

Combeferre's voice pulled him from his contemplations along from a jerking movement against his chest, "perhaps she's awaking. She did always have good timing, I'd estimate we're about a block away from Musain." They quickened their pace as much as they could while the two boys ahead watched as the doll'smuscles tensed, returning to life.

Courfeyrac glimpsed down at Gavroche whose eyes were trained on the men ahead, the dark red splotches had dried on his face now, he removed the de Courfeyrac monogrammed handkerchief from his nose which too had stopped pouring the dangerous murky blood. "She's tougher than she appears, Gavroche, she's okay," he reassured the lad. His blue eyes looked ahead still bubbled with childlike worry and guilt, he made no reply. His brow remained furrowed and his steps carried on.

The doors of the café were in sight when a lucid groan escaped the pink lips of the stirring girl. "Shh, ma cherie," hushed Enjolras soothingly. No one blinked an eye at his uncommon tender but her as her eyes opened and adjusted to the vicious light of the sun pouring in through departing clouds. "Where am I," her voice croaked hoarsely.

Combeferre opened the doors ahead as Enjolras carried the heroic damsel inside without answering her raspy inquiry. A brutal shiver wracked her body as a gasp escaped her lips, her muscles jolted with pain as she was set down onto a wooden chair. "Courfeyrac, grab something to elevate her leg while I fetch Joly," Combeferre said to his friend. Both men took a short fleeting glance at their old friend and family member before departing on their tasks, suppressing the hurt of her clear confusion and lack of recognition.

"Do you know where you are?" Enjolras questioned.

"Oui, Paris."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Today is October 27th, 1829, is it not?"

"It is."

"No."

At this time Courfeyrac returned with a footstool from a room above and a few tattered text books to add height. Enjolras reached for her injured knee but she swatted at his arm in a sluggish movement, "I can do it myself," she said through gritted teeth. And she did, in a laborious fashion wherein both physical and mental hurt painted her face, shedding the bewildered mask. One would have a face like that after a concussion however Enjolras wasn't entirely sure that using her inability to admit recognition of himself was an honest measure of her injuries.

"You should call a carriage to relieve you of my bother," she said, voice uninterested and lacking emotion making it impossible to gauge her emotions.

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at Enjolras who responded with a shrug as if to say he hadn't obtained any intelligence. Courfeyrac, who very rarely pried, questioned her for the sake of conversation. "What's your name?"

No reply.

And so the four of them sat there. Courfeyrac sat beside Enjolras on the floor before their guest and Gavroche at her side where he had eventually inched up to. She rested with her eyes closed while the three gentlemen peered at her each with their own unspoken queries about her curious homecoming. The seconds turned to minutes as the clock ticked on and Le Café Musain remained empty on this Sunday afternoon until Combeferre returned with Joly.

"This is unnecessary," she said has Joly immediately got to prodding her swollen knee.

"She hit her head rather hard," Courfeyrac said, "it was bleeding profusely earlier."

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I see," Joly replied quickly as he moved his hands to her head. He ran his fingers carefully through her coffee strands against her skull searching cautiously until they felt the mentioned lacerations that caused the abundance of hardened blood. "Seems like you caught an uneven stone in that tumble."

"But I've come to now and the bleedings stopped, should someone call me a carriage I would be fine to go on my way."

"Come now, Liberty," Combeferre said irritably. She glared at him, he continued, "you can't walk on that knee."

"It hasn't stopped me before."

"Yes it does seem to be an old wound; the fall must have inflamed the joints rather much though," Joly said, ignoring the bickering cousins.

"There has to be something we can do for it though," Enjolras pondered aloud.

"But there isn't. I'm not a child, Enjolras. You can't take care of me. It's an old injury."

"So you do remember us!" Courfeyrac exclaimed, although he wasn't sure whether to be happy or dejected she pretended not to.

Another eye roll. "I'll walk myself to find a carriage if no one will."

"I'll fetch one," Gavroche piped. Unsure of how he, an gamin child, would convince a carriage to come for her he ran off but determined to do so for his savior that obviously wanted to be nowhere near them.

Courfeyrac opened his mouth to stop him but little Gavroche had already sped off.

All eyes returned to Liberty but she looked only at Joly, the stranger, as she spoke. "I didn't stumble into the square looking for any of you. I had no intent on notifying you of my return but you would have noticed soon enough."

"Why don't you want us to know you're home?" Courfeyrac replied with childish indignity.

She struggled in her seat to stand, swinging her leg mindfully of the makeshift elevator. Combeferre watched her pensively before sighing and helping her up, knowing that for whatever reason they could not make her offer any explanation for her return, and it didn't seem as if she had any intentions it.

"Thank you… cousin," she said more softly.

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Enjolras asked angrily as he raised himself of the floor.

She paused and turned in Combeferre's grip.

"Things are different. I doubt any of us are the same as we were once in childhood. Why pretend I haven't changed?"


	3. Chapter 3

_I would just like to note that there is intended to be a lot of Gavroche in this story, so much that he should probably be listed as a character its about but I couldn't and still can't decide who should be listed beside Enjolras. Also the genre is really more tragedy than romance because we all know how Les Mis ends. I would label this Romance/Tragedy/Friendship/Comfort if I could. And maybe a little adventure because barricades are pretty adventurous. Any who I really appreciate the few reviews and I welcome more! Please review! Also, I'd like to apologize in advance because by the time you finish this chapter you are going to hate me...it's for the best and I love you all very much, I swear!_

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**_Picturesque_**

"My God, these are a ton of boxes," Valentin Vivier said as he appraised the crates before him. His sister Liberty, the youngest of the family, had finally sorted through her belongings after weeks of being home in Paris and prepared heaps of to be moved to the attic for safe keeping. The decaying boxes of light stained wood contrasted with girl's bedroom greatly. They sat on the floor of darkly stained cherry wood and their panels contrasted against walls painted a delicate lilac. Behind the crates was normal bedroom furniture like overflowing bookcase, a proper vanity, and a well-organized desk of ash wood stained the purest white. Her bed was large, also made of white wood but with inlaid aquamarine and amethyst, the mattress topped by sheets of silk and lace that matched the gentle violet of the walls. Above the bed hung a canopy that matched the glittering amethyst swirls that shimmered from the sunlight that streamed through the few windows, and finally at beds side sat a table where an ornate music box and an overturned square picture frame rested ominously.

She smirked from where she stood idly in the doorway behind him, "have fun with that mon cherie, most of those are books."

Valentin stood a menacing six foot four, he had broad shoulders that topped his muscular frame and a head full of sandy brown hair cut short as not to distract from his forest green eyes and high, protruding cheek bones. He wrinkled his long, Grecian nose; his sister had grown coarse since the accident in Florence. "Why can't you just add them to Rémi's collection in the library? Books are books." Rémi was the oldest son of the three Vivier children. The 28 year old man was wise in the mind but weak and immature in his actions, a wifeless lawyer drifting through life uninterested.

"Yes, but those are my books, Valentin. Not Rémis. I don't have room for them all in my room where I'm expected to inhabit," she said, shooting him a glare that said if he didn't comply mother would hear about it and mother did in fact understand Liberty's tumultuous yet beloved relationship with her books.  
The brother shifted the lid off the nearest crate and raised an eyebrow, "Voltaire? You love your Voltaire!"

"Correct, but not Candide , ou l'Optimisme. Just because Voltaire wrote it does not mean it is truly a great work of literature. It's foolish. His sense of comedic value in that work does not suit me. It's too much cliché, surely not his best work," Liberty replied appraisingly. Valentin shrugged and began to move the crates, his muscular arms flexing under the strain. He did not know Voltaire from Marat, Valentin Vivier was a man of brawn not brain and he enjoyed life that way. These discussions were better suited for Rémi.

_A few hours later..._

Liberty sat her desk later that afternoon penning in navy ink her response to the President of the University of Paris about arranging her classes when rather suddenly there was a knock at her door. She looked up from the yellowed parchment, "come in."  
"Mlle. Liberty, there is an urchin delivery boy at the front step who waits only for you. Says he was instructed to deliver a letter directly to your hand," said one of her estates few maids, a sweet older woman with a face wrinkled with age that went by the name Maeva when addressed.  
Liberty paused at her desk thoughtfully, but she knew there was only a select palm full of people it could be from if it was being delivered by a local boy. She nodded to Maeva and exited her bedroom then descended down the staircase and floated as gracefully as one could with the slightest limp towards the front door where she stopped dead in her tracks. Valentin stood in the grand doorway mockingly with his meaty hands ruffling strands of overgrown, dirty blonde hair on the head of a boy with angelic blue eyes and round cheeks. "Valentin, let him be."

"The urch expects payment for his 'services', adorable isn't it?" Valentin sneered.

"Go away brother, as the letter is for me its delivery does not concern you."  
Valentin opened his mouth to assault his sister for her brashness but thought better of it and returned to whatever it is that brutish guardsmen do in their spare time. It wasn't worth a fight this time.

She looked at the familiar boy whose well-being she had made a sacrifice for only short days ago, "come with me petit monsieur, I'll fetch you a franc. Have some bread and tea while I read that letter in case it demands a reply."  
His eyes lit up and his mouth formed a little 'o', "a whole franc Mlle.?"

"Oui M., one franc for your trouble." She led the boy to one of the large estates more practical kitchens and gestured to a high stool at a counter that skirted it. Maeva who had followed her down stood waiting behind her at the entrance of the kitchen. "Maeva, if you would prepare a warm croissant and a cup of that ginger and lavender tea Rémi loves so much for our guest why I fetch him a fee for his delivery?" Maeva looked at her dubiously, wondering as to why she would invite this filthy child into the home as she did not know of their previous acquaintance but acted accordingly to Liberty's wishes. Her mistress fled the room in search of her money box back in her bedroom.

Maeva watched the boy with great skepticism as he climbed his way onto the way too high stool where he sat and swung his legs back and forth while he looked around the room appraisingly. His face was smudged with grime, the same dirt no doubt the clung to his clothes perhaps once vibrant in color but now darkened and grayed by time and lack of cleanliness promised by a life of poverty. Maeva thought perhaps she better boil to pots of water, one for the tea and another for clean water he should wipe his hands with before eating. She also turned on the oven and began to warm up the pastry as requested. The boy spoke up,

"Mademoiselle Vivier is the kindest woman in all of Paris. Why is she so…" he bit his cheek as he struggled to find the precise adjective, "…rigid? No, I'm not sure that can be it."

She mulled over his hasty inquisitiveness a moment before deciding she could offer him what little she had to say, Mlle. Vivier would be flatter by his prior words of admiration. "Mlle. Vivier is an enigma of mystery, dear child. I have worked in this home since she was but a petit girl, and she has changed over the years, but her curious brand of compassion has always bemused me and others."

The boy accepted that as a fair answer and Maeva speculated once again about Mlle. Vivier's curious treatment of the boy and how he seemed to know her. The tea had almost brewed as she removed the warm croissant from the oven and Liberty returned to the kitchen with an envelope in hand. She approached the boy and held out the envelope, it was one from her personal stationary as the edges were embroidered with emerald vines and vibrant pink pansies. They exchanged envelopes.

Maeva dipped a wash cloth into the boiling water; she wrung it until damp before handing it to the boy. He hadn't opened his envelope yet. "Here, wash those hands before you touch the china," she mumbled before bringing him his tea and pastry.  
Liberty looked up from the letter she had only just taken out of its plain eggshell white envelope, "splendid idea, Maeva," she said placing the letter down on the counter. After he had obliged to rub his hands clean Liberty took the cloth from his hands, "now sit still one moment," she said as she began to scrub at the grime on cheeks, nose, and forehead.

"Hey! This was not part of the deal!" the boy yelped, squirming away in his seat.

She ignored his protests. "Good lord, boy. When was the last time you've seen a bath? There, better."

He scowled at her briefly but it dropped as the aforementioned china was placed before him.

Liberty peacefully returned to her letter, and for a moment the scene was picturesque. It was a painting of a woman, tranquil and serene, sending an adoring glance over the top of a letter at a boy who looked young enough to be her brother if not a child of her own, dirty from play as he ate and drank delightfully while their maid stood off to the side pouring more tea for the two.

However the serenity was ephemeral and vanished much quicker than it came. The woman's eyes flickered and darkened, glaring daggers boring holes into the parchment as her lip curled upward, the direction her nostrils flared and her brows turned downward. She became the picture of an archangel.

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_Cliffhanger! I intended to finish this chapter with the mystery letter but unfortunately I got a little long winded Victor Hugo on the descriptions and there were too many new characters introduced. It didn't feel right to cram the letters in, I'm sorry! This week I will release the letter and her response as individual chapters, I promise to try not to make you guys wait too long! I'm so thrilled by the amount of readers I've gained I feel horrible for ending it like this -_-_


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